


Phantasmagoria

by Natterina



Series: Phantasmagoria [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drama, F/M, Fate, Gen, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natterina/pseuds/Natterina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night of the Ball at the Winter Palace, Evelyn travels to Orlais with the intention of finally meeting Cullen Rutherford, the man whose name has been burned on her wrist since birth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captain

The Names were well documented by the time the Dragon Age had begun. Genitivi had penned an extensive work by 9:15 Dragon, documenting the phenomenon in each country he had been able to visit and writing down the attitudes pertaining to such. In every land he had gathered information on, only Tevinter had no laws regarding it.

For much of southern Thedas, the Names were sacred. Amongst the lower classes people were encouraged to find their other half, the person whose Name would be stamped upon their wrists. Amongst the upper classes and the nobility, the Names were viewed less sacred when politics was involved, but if two people had met their match then it was viewed as far superior to simple political alliances. Finding the person whose Name you possessed was one of the few grounds for divorce among the nobility that did not result in a scandal.

The attraction to the soul mate was not one to be trifled with. History had learned all too well the tragedies that could arise from trying to separate two people who possessed each other’s Name.

By the Dragon Age, most of Thedas’ nobility had stopped actively seeking out their soul mate. Political alliances were far more important in the uneasy climate, and political marriages were adhered to unless the soul mate was found. Most members of the nobility had married their children off to their own gain, never certain if the marriage would be a failure. They would send their children off to the illusion of a happy marriage, praying that the soul mate would never turn up.

Bann Trevelyan never held such an illusion for his daughter.

Evelyn Trevelyan was born with her Name burned into her chubby little wrist, in a scrawl so sharp and lined that the Name was impossible to make out until her first birthday. Bann Trevelyan knew from the shape of the scrawl that the handwriting belonged to no noble; the chicken scratch scrawl was more reminiscent of a soldier or a barely-literate commoner. He had initially cringed at the sight of the scrawl, wondering if the boy who had his daughter’s Name on his wrist looked down at an elegant script or an equally scruffy one.

The Name had been the first thing that Evelyn had learned to read. At five years old she was holding tea parties in her mother’s garden, telling all of the other noble children about her soul mate, her handsome prince would whisk her off of her feet when she came of age. He had quickly nipped that in the bud, before any damage to her marriage prospects could be done: his daughter had not spoken to him for weeks when he imposed a ban on the _Name_.

By age ten, Bann Trevelyan wondered if the best way to stop his daughter from doing utterly frivolous things, such as writing _Mrs. Cullen Rutherford_ on her parchment reserved for lessons, would be to give her a sword and train her harshly enough that she would have no time to be distracted by the Name on her wrist.

It did not work. Evelyn Trevelyan became Captain Trevelyan at age twenty-two, and even then Bann Trevelyan knew he could not hand his daughter over in marriage to a man she was not fated to be with; he could not betray her trust or her happiness over a mere political alliance. He had to settle with being thankful that she was no longer parading the Name _Cullen Rutherford_ around for the whole world to see.

When his daughter turned twenty-seven, and finally became the sole leader of his small unit of soldiers, Bann Trevelyan wondered if it was finally time to discuss sending his unmarried, disheartened daughter into a marriage of her own. The day he had finally settled on the argument he would make, was the day he received word from a neighbouring Bann about the rise of the Inquisition in the backwater, frozen town of Haven.

With that news came the information regarding its most prominent members.

Bann Trevelyan took one look at the piece of parchment that listed Cullen Rutherford as the Inquisition’s Commander, and threw his tumbler at the wall. 

* * *

He was three years old when the Name appeared. Cullen Rutherford awoke in the early hours of the morning at the searing pain of a Name being burned into his wrist, and woke the whole house, including the baby Branson, in his excitement.

He finally had a Name!

Cullen’s mother sat him down that day, and explained that the appearance of the mark meant that his soul mate had just been born, and Cullen excitedly held his wrist out to her for her to read the Name.

His mother had frowned at first: the name _Evelyn Trevelyan_ was only small, but the script was elegant and neat, properly formed if a little wonky, and she immediately became aware of two things. First, the script looked to be that of a very well-read and well-taught woman, and thus she was very likely to be a noble. The second thing she became aware of was the fact that she had never, across all the years of her life, encountered the name Trevelyan. It was highly likely that the name was not a Ferelden one, and Cullen’s mother sadly wondered if her son would ever get the opportunity to venture beyond their little village, let alone across the borders of the country.

But he did. But the quiet, reserved Cullen had turned bitter and angry after the destruction at Kinloch Hold, and he no longer held an interest in the Name on his wrist. He hid it from his own sight with a small strip of felt tied around his wrist, which stopped both himself and his fellow Templars from seeing the name.

The first time he came across the name Trevelyan outside of looking at his own wrist was when he was twenty-four, and a Templar who had been transferred from the Ostwick Circle was caught blithely talking about the freedoms which the mages at Ostwick had in comparison to those at The Gallows. Cullen had immediately transferred him back out – it did no good to get ideas into the heads of their mages, after all- but not without getting some information from the man.

A small part of him was disappointed, and another disgusted, at the realisation that his soul mate, the Name on his wrist, was very likely a noble woman and the sister of the Maximian Trevelyan at Ostwick’s tower. For weeks he was plagued with bitter, dark thoughts about the woman who was his supposed soul mate. She was likely some vapid, airheaded noble woman who spent her days acting as a delicate flower, and he had no wish to meet her. His heart protested, the natural attraction to the unknown Name fighting against every decision his mind made, but Cullen’s mind was set. He did not like nobility, and he _knew_ he would not like her.

* * *

 

Evelyn Trevelyan had heard far too many rumours regarding the man whose Name was burned into her wrist and, despite what her father believed, she was well aware that he was residing in Kirkwall before the place was all but destroyed. She had known for a while that Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford had been recruited by the Inquisition, and was subsequently plotting her possible next move when her father stormed in one morning with the letter from Bann Lehnan.

He was not surprised. She was delighted that he approved of her plans.

And so once the Inquisition had relocated to Skyhold, and she had calmed down from her terror at hearing the news about Haven’s destruction, Evelyn set to work.

“Captain Trevelyan? Er… Miss? Why do you… need me?” The young boy who was her father’s Page sat in the chair opposite her desk, a board and several pages of parchment resting on his knee. His inkpot and quill was on the desk, and Evelyn stood on the other side in a deceptively innocuous day dress.

“Because if I send a letter using my own script, they will recognise my handwriting immediately. And seeing as I am giving you secret sword-fighting lessons, I figured you could repay the favour.”

The nervous lad gave a nod, and began to write out each word that left Evelyn’s mouth.

* * *

_Commander Rutherford,_

_I hope you will forgive me if I dispense with formal greetings, but as a fellow soldier I am sure you will understand the need to focus on issues more important than useless salutations. I am the Captain of a small unit of soldiers, originally formed to protect Ostwick during the Blight, and I write to you to extend an offer that I am confident the Inquisition will not refuse._

_I currently oversee four hundred soldiers. I am willing to send two hundred of these to aid you in your cause against the threat posed to all Thedas by the darkspawn Corypheus. Alongside these I am willing to send fifty mages: after the disaster at Redcliffe I am sure you will agree that the Inquisition would benefit from so many fully trained mages, many of which are excellent healers._

_I enclose a letter to your Spymaster detailing arrangements if you choose to accept my offer. Do not open it, Commander: I have eyes and ears of my own, and I will know if my letter reaches your Spymaster unsealed._

_Captain Trevelyan._

"Remind me again why you think Captain Trevelyan is hiding something?" 

Cullen stood at the war table, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at the first page of what had been a curiously short and to the point letter.

The look Leliana gave him was curious, as though she knew something he did not, but she continued with a smirk.

“The writing is clearly a child’s.”

“Maybe his writing is untidy? I know several of my officers prefer to use a scribe.”

Cullen did not notice Leliana’s eyebrow raise at his use of the pronoun _he_.

“I am not convinced. Captain Trevelyan wishes to send us two hundred troops, all highly trained, along with fifty mages.”

“How does he have _mages_ in his unit?” Cullen was both unaware of the glint in Leliana’s eyes and the curious look on Josephine’s, and it was left to Cassandra to answer the question.

“A large amount of mages from the Ostwick Circle fled at the beginning of the violence. Several made their way to the Trevelyan estate with their younger son.”

“I want Templars around then, if that is the case.”

“No need, Captain Trevelyan has also incorporated the Templars who arrived with the mages into the unit. This has all been explained in the letter addressed to Leliana.” Josephine was diplomatic in her response, but Cullen looked at the spread of pages on Leliana’s side of the table and noticed that there was a postscript on one page which had been ripped off. Had Leliana done so?

“And what is Captain Trevelyan expecting in return for the soldiers?” Cullen was sceptical that this was some sort of free gift, and so Leliana’s next words surprised him.

“There has been no stipulation specified. I believe Captain Trevelyan merely wishes to help. You will, however, need to open correspondence with the Captain to discuss a date for the arrival of the troops.”

Cullen left that meeting feeling like the three women around him knew something he did not. 

* * *

Evelyn had found it _hilarious_ when the response from Skyhold was delivered to her by a very sheepish-looking servant girl, the same one who had been one of her eyes and ears inside the Inquisition. The poor girl had thought her mad, but Evelyn waved her out with a smile and looked down to the letter she had been handed.

It was as short and to the point as her own had been; it arranged a potential date for her to arrive at Skyhold with her soldiers, and assured her she would be given the finest of the guest accommodation whilst she stayed to ensure her soldiers were properly settled in.

Evelyn managed to manoeuvre events so that she was due to arrive at Skyhold with her troops one week _after_ the Inquisition returned from the peace talks in Orlais. The Commander had no inkling of her true identity, and she had a plan in place to meet the Commander _before_ her arrival at Skyhold in order to ensure she could actually stand the man before she formally introduced herself.

She also had to be sure he was actually the _right_ Cullen Rutherford. She did not even want to imagine the mortification if she arrived at Skyhold and revealed the Name on her wrist, only for the Name to belong to a different man with the same name.

Evelyn was confident, more so than she had been in a long time, that her plan would work. And with Skyhold’s Spymaster on her side, she knew her plan was fool proof. 

* * *

They were the last to arrive, and the last to be announced to Celene. As they waited to be announced, Cullen watched as Lavellan stared around the ballroom with something akin to awe.

“I wish I could have brought Dorian.”

“Why did you not?” Cullen kept his voice low in case of potential eavesdropping, especially with Gaspard standing close by.

Lavellan ducked his head.

“I didn’t need another mage in my party. If I brought him along it would have been for personal reasons, not practical.” A light blush dusted across Lavellan’s tanned cheeks, and Cullen gave him a small smile in response.

He knew Lavellan and Dorian had a tricky relationship; Dorian _and_ Lavellan had both confided in him on separate occasions the difficulty of their situation. Lavellan had grown up in the Dalish Clans, never putting much stock on the importance of the Names for the simple fact that it wasn’t practical for clans to swap members based on a Name on their wrist. Due to their nomadic nature, it was also very rare for the Dalish to actually meet their Name. The Hero of Ferelden had been considered extremely lucky for having the Name of her clanmate on her wrist, and even then the rumours of her luck turning could be traced through all the stories of the Blight.

Those rumours involved a cursed mirror, a change of fate, and Leliana’s name burnt onto her opposite wrist.

As for Dorian, Tevinter did not care for the Names. They were a weakness, a lie, an obstacle to growing political careers and magical pursuit. Dorian had never been able to read the name on his wrist as it was written in an elegant elvhen script, and he had outright rejected Lavellan when he realised that the older elf had his name on his own wrist.

They had come to accept it recently, but the ground beneath their relationship was still uncertain, and Dorian’s anxiety over it was a frequent topic during their chess games.

Cullen rubbed at his own wrist with a feeling of nostalgia. He longed for a future he could not afford to have, with a woman he would likely never meet and who he knew was of a much higher social class. He hated to admit that there were moments up in his room where he wished he had gone in pursuit of Evelyn Trevelyan after the fall of Kirkwall, but between the lyrium withdrawal and his being in command of the Inquisition’s army, he knew it never would have been possible.

He was, after all, a commoner; the woman whose Name was on his wrist was high nobility. There was no guarantee she would even be willing to entertain him.

Perhaps it was the thought, or the nostalgia, or the unwilling loneliness, but his wrist began to itch just below the skin as he entered the ballroom. He paid it no heed, focusing on ensuring the safety of the Inquisitor as he entered with Gaspard.

Hidden amongst the crowd on the opposite side of the ballroom, however, a masked Evelyn Trevelyan turned to face the entrance the moment she felt her wrist burn beneath her gloves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell this ended up getting long. Sorry for the delay between the chapters, I hope the length of this one makes up for it! Enjoy!

Cullen knew she was here. 

If it weren’t for the burning on his wrist, he might never have known, but his inner wrist felt as though he had stuck it into a furnace and left it in there overnight. He could feel the heat radiating from his wrist up his forearm, and the skin around her Name felt both tight and shockingly hot. When he ran his thumb over it self consciously, it was only warm to the touch, which was a thankful surprise.

Frustrated and thrown utterly off guard, Cullen looked out across the ballroom as they were announced. If anything, his frustration then grew when he realised that he could walk around the room with a burning wrist all evening, but he would never know who she was because of the _damned_ masks the Orlesians insisted on wearing. If the peace talks had been held anywhere else, she would not have been ascribing to the fashion of Orlais. As it stood, a few hundred masked faces looked up at him and the rest of the Inquisitor’s party and, with no idea what his Name looked like, he knew he had no hope of knowing her even if she stood right in front of him.

* * *

 “My darling sister, your eyes are about to pop out of your skull.” A glass of champagne was pushed into Evelyn’s white-gloved hand, and she turned to look at her masked brother as he appeared at her shoulder.

“You cannot see my face; how do you know that?” Evelyn’s face, from her upper lip upwards, was covered with a cream and blue mask that matched the deep blue of her dress. The dress was made in the much less stifling Free Marcher noble style, with an A-line hoop and sweetheart neckline, instead of the Orlesian bell-hoop and ridiculous high collar. Evelyn wasn’t quite sure how the Orlesian women could see over their collars, let alone _breathe_ with the tight fabric around their necks. She thought the only other women with sensible dresses on were those three ditzy handmaidens of Celene’s. Her sleeves only reached her elbows, long enough to hide her muscled biceps so she would be less prone to criticism around the ladies of the court.

 Her younger brother Edward was acting as her chaperone, despite her protests. At twenty-seven and a captain in her own right, she did not think she needed one, but her father insisted.

“I know you too well, Evelyn. And besides, I would react much the same if I finally came face to face with my Name.”

Evelyn felt inexplicably guilty at that. Her younger siblings all knew they had little chance of meeting their Names, especially with the world in such a turbulent state. Her younger sister and brother had both married rather than wait it out, and her youngest brother Maxwell had never been allowed to marry since he was in the Circle.

Edward placed an arm lazily around her shoulder, ignoring the atmosphere of disapproval that radiated from the few stuffy Orlesians next to them. Evelyn cocked her head towards him, her eyes on the Inquisitor as he descended to meet Celene.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened to Max if he had not been delayed on his way to the Conclave?”

Her brother’s face went eerily calm.

“He would be dead, Evelyn.”

“Or he could be Inquisitor.” Evelyn nodded towards the Elvhen man, who she had to admit looked extremely handsome in the red, gold and blue Inquisition outfit. She was eagerly awaiting a full, proper look at the man she suspected to be Cullen Rutherford; her wrist had burned since he entered the room, but the moment she laid eyes on the positively _lovely_ golden blond man who was standing to the left of the Inquisitor, it had _seared_.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the caller announced ‘Cullen Stanton Rutherford’ to the room, and the man her dark eyes were locked onto moved, walking carefully down the staircase to stand behind his Inquisitor.

Edward Trevelyan had been watching his sister carefully for the few minutes she had her eyes locked onto the Inquisition’s Commander. He was happy to see her so excited and obviously eager to meet her Name, and was looking forward to assessing the situation himself.

Therefore, he rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to push her off the balcony when she turned to him in a panic, eyes wide behind the mask, and gasped.

“Now what do I do?”

“I thought you planned this?”

“I did! But now I realise how _creepy_ my actions have been! I contacted him and _hid my true identity_. Andraste’s knickers, I can’t just _walk over there_.”

* * *

 Cullen was torn.

On the one hand, he wanted to tell the dozen young women flocking around him to _shove off_ , albeit in slightly politer terms, for they were infuriating him and refusing to leave him alone. He was highly uncomfortable, and the fact that he could not actually _see_ any of their faces made him nervous.

On the other hand, any one of them could be Evelyn Trevelyan. He was tempted to allow himself to converse properly with some of them, but then his reluctance came back with the excuse that if he spent time talking to one woman, he might miss his Name. She was obviously present, and if she had been in the room when his name was announced, then she had to know he was here too.

As he tried in vain to ignore the giggles of the women around him, a thought struck him. What if she _was_ here, but had already married? He estimated she had to be around twenty-seven by now, and if she was a noble then it was likely that she had been forced into a political marriage. What if she knew he was there but was purposefully staying away?

Though his face remained stoic, his stomach rolled and turned, and he wondered if the sick feeling in his gut was fear or apprehension or _relief_. A Name who wanted nothing to do with him meant there was no need to open up, to make himself vulnerable and allow a stranger in. It would mean he could allow someone in on his own terms, without being forced to by emotions that would rule his heart.

He sighed inwardly at that thought. Mia was right when she told him that he was far too cynical for his own good.

With a groan, Cullen lifted his eyes to look around the ballroom for signs of suspicious activity, resigned to the idea that he might _not_ meet his Name this night, when a white-gloved hand rested upon his left bicep.

The contact _burned_.

His stomach pulled, butterflies exploding inside him as the contact became heavier, and he wondered if it was the effect of his Name touching him for the first time, or if it was a purely psychological response to his nerves.

When he looked up, his eyes locked with dark brown ones behind the painted mask. It _had_ to be her. 

“Commander Cullen, might I tempt you to a turn about the ballroom?”

* * *

 Evelyn’s heart was racing as she daringly placed her right hand on his arm, well aware that his reflexes could kick in under such a tense political situation. If they did, she expected her wrist to be held in a rather tight grip within a second of her contact.

When no reflex kicked in, Evelyn let out the breath she was holding and invited him to walk around the room with her, knowing that a walk around the garden would be out of the question if he were leading the security detail.

His eyes examined her, analysed her for any potential threat or hidden weapons. Evelyn made herself appear as relaxed as possible, knowing that her only weapon –a dagger strapped to the back of her calf- would not be detected. His gaze was hard, and she knew he did not trust her, but she could see in his demeanour that he _wanted_ to trust her. He hesitated for a moment, one hand hovering over the one that rested on his arm, before his gaze slid over to the band of giggling ladies surrounding him. He looked at them for only a second before he turned to her, his right hand resting on hers.

If Evelyn had any doubt that this man was her Name, it was erased at the searing pain that pulsed through her forearm from her wrist. It ached for only a moment but, judging by the way that Cullen’s eyebrows briefly furrowed, he felt it too.

His gaze found hers again, and there was a noticeable difference in the heat behind it.

“I would be honoured to accompany you, my lady. Please excuse me, ladies.” He gave a polite nod to the women who had been trying to converse with him, his grip tightening over her fingers, and led Evelyn away with an urgency that would have made her laugh under other circumstances. 

He was clearly desperate to be rid of them.

* * *

 They had walked around half of the ballroom when Cullen stopped, Evelyn’s hand now linked through his arm as he accompanied her. They had stopped by a balcony, both of them relishing in the cool air as they struggled to think of something to say.

Cullen wanted to shake himself; he had grown up listening to tales of Names meeting each other and immediately declaring love, speaking easily together. He should have realised that it was not so simple: he did not _love_ the woman who was on his arm, and it was not easy to think of something to say. There was a strong attraction, and he did not wish to let go of her, but he did not _love_ her.

“Forgive me, my lady, but you have me at a disadvantage: I do not know your name.” He looked down at the blonde haired woman, releasing her arm and allowing her to lean against the doorframe to look at him. From their position, he could see most of the ballroom whilst she leaned slightly on the frame.

“Oh, of course! Forgive me, Commander. My name is Evelyn.”

Cullen knew immediately what she was doing. Evelyn knew he was her Name but was keeping that quiet until she could assess him properly, and he would not be entirely certain this woman was his until he saw his name on her wrist. Until then, she was keeping her cards close, and he recognised the tactic the moment she withheld her surname from him.

“A pleasure, Lady Evelyn.” He kept his gaze on her, unsure what to do now that they were both introduced. Mercifully, she took the initiative and looped her arm around his again so her hand was resting on his forearm, and moved to pull him around the room again.

“The pleasure is all mine, Commander. After all, the gossip that will come from us walking around the room together will hide your words from the servant who is spying on you.” The plastic rim of the mask on her upper lip made her mouth and laugh seem strange, but she leaned her body closer as though she were whispering sweet words into his ear.

Cullen fought to keep himself from reacting, alarm flooding through him as he considered her words. There was no way to tell if she was speaking the truth, and frankly he had no idea if he could trust her words. He felt immediately uncomfortable, and suddenly the weight of her hand on his arm felt heavier.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about, my lady.”

Her responding laugh made his stomach flip. 

“Oh, I think you do. I have eyes and ears everywhere, Commander, though I am not nearly half as great a Spymaster as your own. I know why the Inquisition is here.” 

The words should have startled him further, Cullen knew that, but the phrasing was all too familiar and Cullen looked at her curiously

“My lady, are you related to Captain Trevelyan, by any chance?” He knew she probably was, but it was a good way to divert her attention until he decided if he could trust her, as well as help him to understand more about the elusive Captain that they were to welcome to Skyhold.

Her posture briefly tensed, the hand on his arm tightening, before her masked face turned to him and he could see the smile in her eyes.

“You could say that, Commander.” Before he could ask further, she spoke again. “Don’t think I do not know you are trying to change the conversation.”

His returning smile was almost nervous in a charming way, but Evelyn would be lying if she said she thought it half as sincere as it initially appeared. 

“Enough about me, Commander Cullen. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

* * *

 If he was being honest with himself, Cullen could admit that his attraction to Evelyn Trevelyan would likely be much stronger if he was as invested their conversation as he appeared to be. However, as much as he would like to use the opportunity to know the woman he assumed to be his Name, his job and the Inquisitor’s success came first. Even now, he was working.

He was grateful for her presence. His attraction to her was growing, but with her on his arm it allowed him to move about the ballroom and observe any suspicious events from all angles, whilst her presence deterred the other ladies from surrounding him and blocking his vision and his hearing.

Nevertheless, their conversation was pleasant, even if he did feel a little self conscious when she asked him about life in Honnleath, knowing it did not compare to her own extravagant upbringing. Thankfully, however, she seemed not to care. He found he could easily laugh with her, if his subdued chuckle could be counted as a laugh, and found it a relief that she was not the vain creature he had expected his Name to be.

So it was with regret, and a small amount of uncertainty, that he excused himself from Evelyn’s presence when he noticed Leliana re-enter the ballroom. Her eyes sought out Josephine first, and Cullen used the opportunity to slip away across the room to be near the huge entrance doors. 

He reached Leliana at the same time as Josephine and, when he briefly glanced back, Evelyn had blended into the crowd.

* * *

In actuality, she had not blended in with the crowd, but her view of Cullen and the meeting by the doors was obscured by the frame of her brother. He was standing before her with two glasses of wine, one of which he pushed into her hands.

“Keep yourself hydrated, dear sister. I do not need you fainting.”

With a heavy sigh of relief, Evelyn pushed her gloved fingers under the mask and pulled it off. The cool air which hit her face was a blessed relief in the stuffy ballroom.

“How do the Orlesians stand this? I cannot bring myself to put it back on.”

“Then don’t. How are people supposed to know who their acquaintances are here? Do you suppose that some people stand there talking to a complete stranger, all the while thinking it is their closest friend? No wonder the Orlesians can't keep a secret.”

Evelyn opened her fan as he spoke and desperately fanned her face, hoping to erase any signs of sweat.

“The Orlesians can be idiots, but we Marchers can be worse.” Evelyn looked up at Edward as she spoke, a grin on her face. “And how do I know you’re really my brother?”

“You have the Name ‘Cullen Rutherford’ inscribed on your wrist.” Even behind his mask, Evelyn could sense his deadpan look.

“Point taken.”

* * *

 Cullen found her on the balcony an hour after he left Leliana and Josephine, after the Inquisitor and his party had left to search the upper floors of the Winter Palace. Leliana had told him to resume his earlier actions with a sly smile, but she knew she did not need to tell him to be ready the moment Lavellan re-entered the ballroom.

It had taken him a while to realise that the unmasked woman on one of the balconies had to be her, and he would be outright lying if he tried to pretend that he not spent a minute or two analysing her facial features. Her facial features were pronounced, her jawline sharp and her cheekbones high, but there was none of the strong angles that Cullen had imagined once he realised she was noble. Her blonde hair was pulled up into an Orlesian twist, amplifying her facial features whilst making her seem smaller.

He knew that he found her beautiful because of the Name, but even so Cullen thought he would still think so even if she weren’t his match. He was becoming more certain of it as the minutes passed.

He knocked on the glass of the open door before he moved onto the balcony, staying close to the doorway to ensure he could still keep an eye on events in the ballroom. His soldiers were waiting in the wings, and a simple signal to one of his soldiers who was dressed in plain-clothes, would ensure they entered the ballroom swiftly if needed.

“Was it just me, Commander, or did I spy your Inquisitor dancing with the Grand Duchess?”

“You saw correctly, my lady. The Inquisitor hopes to enjoy the party while he can.” It was sarcasm hidden by a smile, but Evelyn returned it wryly as she moved towards the doors.

“I’m sure he does. It explains why he has only been in the ballroom for fifteen minutes over the course of the entire evening.”

Evelyn was about to move past him when his hand darted out to catch her wrist, unwilling to re-enter the ballroom with her just yet. Cullen did not consider himself an observant man when it came to other people, knowing his observation skills did not compare to Josephine’s or Leliana’s, but even he could not mistake the wide eyed look of terror when his fingers curled around her wrist _just_ under the edge of her white glove.

Their eyes met as Cullen looked at her curiously, tempted to just move his fingers up an inch and see if his name really was there on her wrist. He knew it was a breach of her trust, but he felt like he _needed_ to know. If she hadn’t been staring at him so intently, he might have done it. As it stood, they remained silent until Cullen had the words to speak.

“Please, my lady, show me the name on your wrist.” The contact between them was making Cullen feel terrified, and he knew his request was far too forward. He did not show it on his face, appearing only curious to Evelyn, but beneath the façade he was nervous to the point that he almost felt sick. The contact was making his wrist burn lightly, and he was keenly aware of every part of his gloved hand that touched her wrist.

He could feel her pulse beating hard beneath their gloves.

Cullen broke the stalemate first, moving around Evelyn and releasing her wrist so that he could look into the ballroom properly whilst he waited for her to respond. Evelyn kept her eyes on him, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplated showing her wrist to the man she met only hours earlier.

“Commander Cullen, if I show you the name on my wrist, there is something I must tell you first.”

“Please, just tell me.” Cullen refused to beg, but he knew the time was cutting short when he noticed the doors to the ballroom open once again, and the Inquisitor returned still in his battle armour.

They were standing far too close to be appropriate, and Evelyn wondered what he would do if she were to close the gap between them and kiss him. Every nerve in her body was alight with an anticipation she could not control, as though the tingling on her wrist had spread through her blood. She was undecided between wanting to kiss him and wanting to show him her wrist, uncertain in that moment which would be more intimate.

“No, you must know…” Evelyn trailed off as she looked up at him fully and followed his line of sight, turning and noticing that the Inquisitor had returned. Cullen gave a small nod to the serving girl standing near the doors, who immediately placed her tray on the nearest table and left the room. He knew there was probably around twenty seconds before the soldiers entered. He was torn.

“I’m sorry, but I _must_ go. If you could wait here…” Cullen trailed off as the Inquisitor made eye contact with him, and it was with an apologetic look and a nervous kiss to her cheek that he left the balcony.

Evelyn felt her skin tingle where his lips had made contact with her cheek, whilst Cullen made his way quickly to the Inquisitor, all the while wondering if he should have done it.

The attack on the Empress was foiled as the Inquisitor attacked Florianne before her knife could make contact with Celene, but the resulting combat and clean up meant that Cullen had no time to return to the balcony for at least another hour and a half. 

When he returned Evelyn was already gone, and he knew from the cool feeling on his wrist that she had left the Winter Palace entirely.

* * *

 “I don’t see why this is necessary.”

Cullen felt irritation working its way through him as Josephine all but dragged him down to Skyhold’s courtyard, insisting that he be present for the arrival of the new troops and the unit of mages.

He knew better than anyone that it was only the higher-ups they were welcoming into Skyhold itself; the bulk of the men and women were probably already settling in to the camps in the Valley.

And, if he was honest with himself, he did not wish to meet Captain Trevelyan when he was sure the man was the brother of the Evelyn he met at the Winter Palace. A small part of him hoped that Evelyn would have insisted on coming to Skyhold with the Captain, but on questioning Josephine he was told that it was only Captain Trevelyan and their youngest brother Maximian arriving at Skyhold.

And so here he stood, waiting for a small number of people to make their way up the mountain when he could be working in his office, or trying to finish the letter he was unable to bring himself to write. Cullen did not see the point of it; he would hardly be doing any of the talking, for Josephine would be taking charge.

Leliana looked across Josephine at him, her hands folded neutrally in front of her.

“Oh hush, Commander. You’ve been sour ever since we left Halamshiral.”

“Perhaps he misses his lady paramour from the evening.” Josephine threw a sly smile his way as she spoke, before leaning over to Leliana. “Do you know, I have already received eleven requests for information on his lineage. He made quite the impression.”

Cullen clenched his jaw as he tried to ignore them, though he could not help the small upwards tilt to his lips when Leliana giggled in response to Josephine.

He was watching the gate rise when he noticed the Inquisitor was absent.

“Leliana? Where is the Inquisitor?”

Her smile fell. 

“He is indisposed. The report on the Lavellan clan came back this morning.”

Cullen understood and immediately felt sick to his stomach as he looked at Leliana. Her reserved expression disappeared, however, when she switched into a diplomatic mindset as their guests came through the gate. Josephine was wearing a similar expression of friendliness, and so Cullen did his best not to look too uninterested.

The group was on horseback, roughly six or seven of them, but the two at the front were obviously the Trevelyans. Both were male, he observed, though both had frames smaller than the average.

They were both wearing armour, one light and one medium, which made it a little difficult to figure out which one was the mage. The man in the leather armours did not have a helmet on, but when he dismounted first Cullen assumed he was the Captain they had been expecting. He did not notice the look of total awe on the man’s face that would have been out of place on a warrior used to travelling.

Cullen took the initial introduction, as he always did when it was a military arrival.

“Captain Trevelyan, I presume? Welcome to Skyhold.”

The light haired man fixed his attention on Cullen as the others dismounted, analysing him before shaking his head with a smile.

“I am afraid not, Commander. I am Maximian Trevelyan.”

“ _I_ am the Captain.”

Even before the helmet and visor was removed, Cullen would have recognised that voice anywhere. He turned to the other rider feeling like his heart had jumped into his throat, steadfastly refusing to believe his ears. 

Evelyn Trevelyan stood before him with her helmet cradled under her arm, sporting a small smile on her face and a guilty look in her eyes.

* * *

 Cullen had not known how to react. He allowed Josephine and Leliana to take over the introductions and, once he was no longer strictly needed, he all but fled to his rooms with no idea of how to proceed. 

He was fluctuating between emotions, feeling elated in one moment and embarrassed in the other, angry at one point and excited the next.

Embarrassment and anger because Evelyn had obviously known that she would be the one arriving at Skyhold the following week, and yet she had neglected to mention it and made no mention of the fact that she was a highly trained warrior. In the depths of those emotions he felt as though it was an elaborate prank on her part, but immediately pushed those thoughts away as a product of his anger.

He was angry at Leliana, for she had clearly known he was wrong when he was referring to the Captain Trevelyan as one of the sons of the Bann. But then Cullen wondered if perhaps it was a good thing that events had unfurled this way. Leliana was able to ensure that Evelyn was not a threat to the Inquisition, and Cullen had the opportunity to meet her and decide if they got along well.

It was when he was thinking of this that Cullen felt better. He was not a lonely man, and he knew he could function just fine never meeting his Name, but the idea of a person there at the end of the day was an appealing one nonetheless. He wondered if a side effect of being with her would be that his nightmares would decrease in their intensity.

He knew it was best, when he was fluctuating so, to not go into the main part of the fortress where he was likely to bump into her. It took almost all of his strength to resist the urge to seek her out, but Cullen managed it, and if his dreams that night _were_ more vivid he put it down to his ever-present fear about Evelyn that had existed since her name appeared on his wrist.

It was five in the morning when Cullen arose and left the tower in his training clothes, eager to take out the remaining embarrassment and anger on one of the practice dummies. The training area was usually empty at such an early hour, and Cullen was able to work up a sweat in the hour he was left alone.

Evelyn appeared at six, dressed in cotton breeches and a tunic with her long sword sheathed at her side and her shield slung over her back. She approached the training ring and leaned against the wooden fence, an eyebrow raised.

“I thought I’d be the only one awake at this hour. Couldn’t sleep?” Her expression was open, but Cullen could see the fear behind her eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

“No.” He took one last powerful swing at the dummy before throwing the practice sword onto the floor. Evelyn passed him the rough flannel that was draped over the fence without needing to be prompted, and gave him a moment to wipe his face.

Cullen was panting from the exercise and a small amount of fear when he put the flannel back on the fence and met her gaze.

“I am sorry I did not tell you at Halamshiral that I was the Captain Trevelyan you had been communicating with.” Evelyn’s words came out in a rush, full of fear of rejection. Cullen watched her as she spoke, understanding the reasoning behind her deception even if he did not like that _he was the reason_ behind it.

There was silence for a moment as he looked at her.

“I don’t appreciate being kept out of the loop in all of this. But, I do know that had I met you under any circumstances where the meeting was planned, my own dislike of these Names would have made me stubborn.”

The look of relief that flooded her features nearly threw Cullen off guard.

“Thank the Maker you understand. I just wanted to be _sure_ that you were the right Cullen Rutherford, and that I would find you agreeable without the Name influencing me.” Evelyn crossed her arms as she leaned on the gate, not quite looking at Cullen for fear or rejection based on her deception.

“I just wish you hadn’t told Leliana. She will bring this up at every opportunity, I know it.” Cullen shook his head and moved closer to the fence, all too aware of how Evelyn was observing his every movement.

“You never showed me your wrist, my lady.”

“That’s ‘Serah’ to you, Messere.” It was a joke meant to distract him, but her smile faltered at his seriousness. With a sigh that was meant to mask her nervousness, she slowly pulled off the leather training glove on her left hand. 

In an attempt to lighten the mood just a little, she cradled it to her chest with a small grin. “This will be embarrassing if your Name isn’t me.” With that, she held it out to him.

He _knew_ his name was going to be there, but even still his stomach flipped with nervousness and a sense of excitement as he looked at his own chicken-scratch scrawl inscribed into her wrist. The _Cullen_ was above the _Rutherford_ , and it looked deeper than the one on his own wrist. Cullen would later wonder if the strength of the press on parchment had anything to do with the Name, but as it stood he could not tear his eyes away from it.

If they weren’t alone in the training yard, he knew the smile on his face would be much more reserved. As it stood, he gave her a grin that was bashful, nervous, and elated, all at once. She laughed in response, a nervous sound that hid how close she was to tears.

“Now show me yours.”

Cullen obliged, pulling off his own training gloves and holding out his right arm for her to inspect. Evelyn laughed, full of relief, as she traced her fingers over her name on his wrist. It was light red and smaller than she expected, nestling in between the two lines of his wrist, but the looped and neat writing very clearly showed _Evelyn Trevelyan_ in her script. Unlike her own it was all on one line, looping around the flat of his wrist without winding around it completely.

Her laugh was like music to his ears and, knowing there was no one around at such an early hour, Cullen gently took hold of her face and kissed her. The fence separated them still, but Evelyn leaned forward as much as she comfortably could and all but lost herself in the kiss. It was slow but desperate, and she clutched the hair at the back of his head as one of his hands dropped to her waist.

When he broke the kiss Evelyn took the cue written clearly on his face and climbed over the fence. The moment her feet hit the floor on the other side they were kissing again, their bodies pressed together as Cullen held her tightly to him.

A moment later he seemed to regain himself, and Cullen pulled back an inch or two and locked eyes with her.

“I- I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting to do that since I first saw you.”

Evelyn grinned.

“By all means then, don’t let me stop you.”


End file.
